Something Old, Something New
by ByrdIsTheWord
Summary: Sherlock, John, and Lestrade attend a forensics convention while on holiday in Paris. As soon as they arrive at their hotel, though, they find that a one-bed room is the least of their worries. May be short or long; depends. Rated M for later. J x S x L.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

So I received a prompt on my tumblr (sbyrdistheword dot tumblr dot com) which read: "the holmes, John and Lestarde Take a holiday in France. Can be slashy (VERY slashy) or not :)"

Then I was inspired by a **John x Lestrade** fic I read and (surprisingly) REALLY enjoyed (link: fanfiction dot net/s/7710760/1/Wet) to turn this prompt into an OT3 of sorts.

So, as the fic progresses, it could grow to be rather long if enough people jump on my **John x Lestrade x Sherlock ** bandwagon, or it could just be a few short chapters.

**Review and let me know what you think, please!**

**Enjoy!**

**. . .**

"Bienvenue à Paris. Il est quatre heures et quart..." an announcement welcomed the travelers.

"Dull," Sherlock let out a long sigh.

"Sherlock, that's the first thing you say when we just got 'ere? This 'ere flat mate spent a good bit o' money on this trip for you," Lestrade clapped Sherlock's back, cheekily grinning as he passed up the taller man to find the baggage claim.

"Wrong way, idiot," Sherlock boomed after the speedy man.

"Right," Lestrade turned around and began walking to his right. Realizing his pun, he stopped walking and snapped toward Sherlock, attempting to elicit a response.

In turn, Sherlock decided that now would be as good as ever to help John with the luggage. "What can I carry for you, John?" he whirled around.

The shorter man had a look between frustration and absolute contempt (verging on the latter by then) as he struggled to pull two suitcases whilst precariously balancing a large duffel bag on his shoulder.

He sighed, took a deep breath, and slowly slipped the duffel bag from his to Sherlock's arm. "Take your stupid bag. I don't want to be the one responsible for a broken skull." The man huffed and began walking to get a head start toward the baggage claim. "I don't see why we had to take the bloody thing anyway," he mumbled.

Sherlock shoved the skull in John's face, "You take your friends with you-"

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock!" John interjected, putting up an arm to defend his face.

"-when you travel and so do I," Sherlock defensively finished. "I all ways have," he added curtly.

At this, John turned around. "You mean to tell me you've all ways taken a_ human skull _with you on your travels?"

"That is what I said," Sherlock furrowed his brows, wondering why John was even slower than normal today.

"How is that-"

"Mycroft," Sherlock tutted John for his blatant ignorance of knowledge, walking ahead, causing his coat to billow behind him. He held his skull out at an arm's length. "Come along then, Victor, we don't need him anyway."

John rolled his eyes and grabbed the two rolling suit cases, starting off yet again after his swaying (twirling, really, he decided) flat mate. And, despite seeing the ridiculous man's childish behavior, John couldn't help but feel a smile spread across his face.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, here we are, boys, the Hotel Appi," Lestrade smiled from ear to ear, faking a horrible French accent.

"I'll be off then," Sherlock dumped his duffel bag onto John, turning up his coat collar as he walked away.

"For God's sake," John stumbled to catch the bag.

"Where on Earth are you going?" Lestrade called after Sherlock.

"I've got business," Sherlock swung around, giving the pair a look that screamed "obviously."

Lestrade raised his hands, waiting for further explanation, but Sherlock just turned around and walked off.

John shrugged as he shifted the bag onto his free shoulder.

"Is your boyfriend all ways like this?" Lestrade spat out.

John just sighed, holding back a bit of a blush. He still felt a bit weird having everyone at the Yard know about his and Sherlock's relationship. "Yeah, well, you know how he is," he half-laughed.

Lestrade stared icily, clearly more annoyed than John.

"I guess living with him has made me immune to his antics," he admitted.

Lestrade rolled his eyes and swung back around, walking into the hotel.

John readjusted the three bags on his shoulders as he followed. He struggled through the door with the bags squishing him on either side. He exhaled deeply as he managed to squeeze through the narrow frame.

He looked up as he entered the lobby, noticing that he had, indeed, picked well. The design was simple, but clean and modern. He decided he liked the very chic look, feeling himself swell with pride. _Just wait 'til Sherlock sees it. _He smiled at the very thought.

He pulled his shoulders back and briskly walked up to the front desk, anxious to get settled in. "Parlay voo on-glay?" he gurgled French to the lady behind the counter.

A bemused look came across the woman's face. "Little bit," she smiled.

"Ah, great," John smiled. "Well, the room is under John Watson-that's me, by the way-and here," he fished in his pocket before pulling out his credit card, "is my card."

The girl stared at him blankly.

"Credit, that is," he smiled.

She slowly moved to grab the card, furrowing her brows.

"Nahm?" she smiled.

"Sorry?" John cocked his head.

"Nahm?" she repeated.

"I don't...I don't understand," he pursed his lips.

"Your nahm," she said.

"My...what?" he laid his hand on the counter.

"N...a...m...e," she said.

"Oh, _name!_" John beamed.

The girl bit her bottom lip and tapped her fingers on the computer monitor.

"John Watson."

"J...?" she started off.

"J..o...h...n," he smiled.

"For God's sake," Lestrade rubbed his temples and huffed.

The girl looked up at John expectantly.

"W...a...t...s...o...n," he finished.

She smiled and nodded, typing the information in quickly. After a minute or so, she looked up and smiled, then turned around to grab a key off of the cork board behind her. She handed the key to John, saying, "Sixty-five."

John gave her a quick "thanks" and took the key, tapping Lestrade on the shoulder. "Come on then," John patted him.

The other man groaned, dragging his hands down his face. After a dramatic sigh, he picked up his bags and turned around, offering a small smile to John.

John beamed, still excited about his great luck with this amazingly cheap-and nice!-hotel.

He grunted as he picked his own two bags off the floor and swung Sherlock's duffel bag onto his arm. He grit his teeth, not terribly uncomfortable underneath the weight, but still feeling pretty awkward.

He gave himself a curt nod and began walking, scanning the lobby for the elevator. He looked from left to right and back again before turning to Lestrade.

"Where's the elevator?" Lestrade voiced his thoughts.

"I'm-I'm not sure," John tried to hide the panic in his voice. He set his two bags down, then turned back to the front desk, waving to the girl.

The girl smiled half-heartedly.

"Hi, uh, where..." John squinted, trying to remember some of the French Sherlock had taught him before their trip. "Oh, oh, that's right," he smiled to himself. "Where est les elevators?" he smiled.

The girl's eyes widened and she turned a laugh into a cough. She shook her "no."

"Kwa?" John botched the French version of "what?"

"No elevator," she said.

Now John's eyes widened as he realised what this meant. He fumbled in his pocket for the room key, praying to all the gods he could think of silently as he grasped the cold metal. With a wince, he yanked it out of his pocket, scanning the top for a set of numbers. "Sixty-five," he whispered breathlessly. They were on the top floor, and the only way they could get there was by _stairs_.

"Is it in the back or something?" Lestrade called from across the lobby.

John turned around to see the man moving chairs in his desperate search. He gulped, sighing shakily. "No elevator," he repeated the girl's message.

Lestrade froze in his position, then slowly straightened up before turning around. "Sorry. _What?_"

John bit his cheek, repeating his sentence. "No elevator."

Lestrade huffed, putting his hands on his hips.

John slowly bent down, picking up his bags gingerly. He passed by Lestrade quickly, too ashamed to make further eye contact with the man. He pushed open the door to the stairwell and sighed, looking up at the stairs like a climber might a mountain. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

_Well, what more could go wrong? If this is my biggest problem, then I'm doing __fine__._ John smiled as decided he wasn't going to let one tiny staircase ruin his (albeit partial) vacation.

. . .

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